


Traditional Skills

by Arithanas



Category: Historical Farm (UK TV)
Genre: Christmas Presents, Friendship, Gen, Victorian Farm Episode II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28145517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: Peter got an early Christmas gift from Alex.
Relationships: Peter Ginn & Alex Langlands
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Traditional Skills

**Author's Note:**

  * For [subito](https://archiveofourown.org/users/subito/gifts).



_ Here in Shropshire is a farm that's frozen in time, lost in rural Victorian England. Now a unique project will bring it back to life, as it would have been in the 1880s... We are taking up the challenge of living as Victorian farmers for a full calendar year. From the depths of winter to the warmth of summer. We'll wear the clothes, eat the food, and experience the day-to-day life of rural Victorians. This was a time of the agricultural revolution in Britain. But the industrialization of farming would wipe out centuries of traditional skills...  _

Peter Ginn, who had been skimming through the opening spiel they had shared on the morning toolbox meeting, stopped in his way to Glebe Farm on the Acton Scott Estate and looked overhead. The branches were heavy with frost and Peter shivered inside his insulated modern jacket. A snowstorm had fallen over the land way earlier than they had expected. The landscape was even more idyllic under a blanket of snow; Peter leaned on a stone wall to let all that beauty soak him thoroughly.

They had expected snow, that’s why they’d called Alex’s brother to help. Tom was a decent bloke, helpful, eager to learn, and quick to learn. His help had been the reason the pigsty was almost done, even with this climate. Tom was almost as brilliant as Alex. But he was not Alex. Peter kicked a pebble and resumed his solitary walk from the guest rooms provided in Acton Manor. 

To cap it all, the jacket sent by the costume department refused to sit well on his broad shoulders. It was a godsend the dark frock coat fitted Tom like a glove. Less hassle on the takes, but the waistcoat under Peter’s modern jacket couldn’t keep Peter as warm even with the monumental work they still had to face. Cutting each scene to warm up was an unexpected and massive inconvenience.

The frozen gravel crunched under his work boots. The air tasted of nature and cold. Christmas was approaching and Ruth had been immersed in the planning and cooking of the banquet. Maybe the production team could spend more time in her kitchen instead of their work. Tom and Peter’s work was more repetitive and less information-laden and Tom didn’t spark the same sense of mischief as his brother. A white cloud of condensed breath carried his sigh, remembering how fun it was to put the red rattle on Fred the ram’s chest and how flawless the thank you abandoned Peter’s lips when he equivocated Alex’s words about Fred. 

“Fonz, wait!”

Peter turned around feeling how the smile tugged the corners of his mouth. The nickname was carried over from their first show. Alex had called him and Peter couldn’t say no… Alex was running down the lane with his right hand holding his hat and a big package under his left. His face contorted with such a gesture that Peter the production suffered any mishap. 

“What is it?”

“I just got a package,” Alex commented with a wide smile and a puff of vapor, patting the brown paper of the parcel he carried. “I’ve been waiting for it for a week now.”

That was his friend. The intensity was not the most prominent characteristic of his delivery when they filmed, but Peter seldom crossed paths with anyone with Alex’s enthusiasm.

“You remember last week?” 

Peter nodded. Last week the production got notice of the storm coming. They even planned some shots inside of the cottage to signal how devastating an early frost was in Victorian times.

“Well, Fonz,” Alex said and extended the package in a silent offering. “I want you to look at this!”

Peter put his hands under the package, unsure of what to do. Alex made a small encouraging movement with his hands.

“Did you find something uniquely Victorian?”

“Happy Christmas,” Alex said and left the package in Peter’s hands. “For your personal use. And please, don’t get too flustered. Tom has a friend who knows someone who studies Victorian apparel.”

And with that, Alex turned around probably because he was getting late for a shot. Peter looked at his friend with a smile, and regretted once more that they wouldn’t have too many scenes together, and examined the package. Brown paper and string and a small note. Peter’s smile became wider with each passing second. 

After a cautious observation, Peter put the package on the stone wall and pulled the string. Inside, folded with care there was some green fabric. At first blush, it looked like an overcoat. Peter caressed it and noticed it felt like wool tweed. His fingers rolled over the pad stitching on the wide lapels. With eyes too accustomed to science, Peter studied the buttonholes. Darker silk, slightly uneven: they were handmade.

Curiosity satisfied, Peter unfurled the garment and admired the great Ulster overcoat in all his glory. From the fancy double cape to the fabric-lined buttons, each stitch spoke of quality, of craftsmanship, of tradition. Peter held it at arm’s length and took notice of the flaps. Long enough to get past Peter’s knees. The sudden realization hit him that this coat was not rescued from an archeologist period clothing experiment. This overcoat was custom made.

Alex had placed the order long ago. This was such a thoughtful present.

Peter took out his modern jacket right in the middle of the road and the cold wind cut through his working shirt. Shivering, Peter tried the Ulster, and the fabric wrapped around his body like a hug.

A very warm hug…

Peter looked at the distance. Shropshire landscape, covered in snow, stretched out for miles as the weight of the fabric settled on Peter’s shoulders. After months in period clothing, he was still surprised by how different it felt on his frame. Without looking, Peter passed his hand over the heavy cotton linen. He was not disappointed; there was an inside pocket, lined in silk, over his heart.

With a smile, Peter placed the note inside the pocket, folded his insulated jacket in the brown paper, and secured it with a string. He held the package under his arms and retook his way toward the farm, whistling an ancient carol under his breath.

There were scenes to shoot, experiments to finish, and chances to work with his best friend ahead. 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to JJJ who provided a quick SPaG check on Discord.


End file.
